


Strings and pens

by Boredofusername



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Misha with spectacles, One Night Stands, Partial Nudity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poet Misha, Public Hand Jobs, Rockstar Jensen, Short One Shot, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boredofusername/pseuds/Boredofusername
Summary: Jensen Ackles is a rockstar who finds a fan too enigmatic to let go without knowing a little more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what else to put on summary because this is basically a porn without plot. And I have a fantasy of a rockstar Jensen that meets poet Misha.   
> *sigh*
> 
> Comments and kudos are what I gain from this, so if you like it, let me know. Thank you all

Jensen's breath stills for a moment when his eyes fall on the first row of the audience. The riff from Rob's guitar hasn't yet thrum to the note where he needs to start. He gently takes a sip of the whiskey, warming up his throat and languidly lets himself a glance of the crowd. He loves his life, his passion for music and all things fine and artistic. He loves the dusty roads he travels for concerts, the sweaty nights of summer and bon fires of winter on the roadsides to nowhere, waking up to sky still bleeding orange and sun shy around the horizon. He loves breeze of automn and beautiful people with soulful eyes. That's where his eyes land when he sees a pair of vibrant blue behind thick rimmed glasses perched on a straight nose. The features are so contrasting with near black hair but such summer sky eyes, tan skin and soft pink lips that Jensen stares a moment too long. But then Rob's guitar drifts the chords to his note and he begins.

  
The crowd is wild, energetic and a bit drunk as usual. Someone throws a bra at him. He laughs, picks up the lacy garment with his long middle finger and winks at the general direction of the audience. Some woman cries. He goes in for four songs back to back, ending with Angeles, silently dedicating it to the man that has been his muse for the night. The man keeps the same posture throughout, except for occasional mouthing of the lyrics he stares at Jensen with a sincerity that Jensen thinks hits him a bit too hard 'cause he is tipsy. His gaze keeps drifting back to the stranger and as he finishes off, they are staring at each other as if they all are there to begin with and to end, like it's just Jensen and him and his voice and those blue eyes and Jensen feels so undone that as soon as he finishes, he climbs out of the backstage to the condo where his stuffs are kept.

  
He leans on the condo's wall, breathing in the humid air of July, trying to block those piercing eyes, but all he does is glide in deeper into the mosaic that has become his thoughts and whirlwind of strange feelings tightening his chest that he occasionally feels and always writes off as melancholy of an artistic mind.

  
After a while or eternity, he starts walking towards a roadside pub, hoping it's empty of the locals because it is two in the morning and intending to simply get drunk. He sort of stumbles at the door, catching just before falling down entirely on his face and curses loudly. A few patrons in the pub spare him no mind as he slides into a booth at the corner and orders a neat whiskey on rocks.

  
On his second peg he nearly startles himself to falling off his seat when the same pair of intense blue look at him from across the pub. He feels the steady strum of his heart takes an octave higher as both stare at each other with an intensity that he can slice through with a knife. He knocks off the rest of the amber liquid before slowly starting to walk towards the other end, almost as if on a trance. The blue eyes follow him with that same steady heat in them that's been singing sirens in his blood the whole night.

  
'Hey.' he says quietly as he slides down the seat opposite the stranger.

'Hello.' The voice has the rich gravel of a smoker, but smoother and it somewhat gets misplaced in Jensen's mind in between the texture of fine bourbon and honey.

'I noticed you in my show. You seemed very dedicated.' Jensen is a man of few words, and even fewer self boasting monologue but he feels his brain isn't really his strong suit right now. The man smiles, soft around the lips and a few laugh lines crease around his eyes.

'I indeed am. Your voice has a pull, like magnet. They influence me to write.'

'Oh, so you're a writer?'

'Poet.'

'Ahh, sorry. Jensen Ackles.'

'Misha Collins.'

'Misha?' Jensen swirls the name on his tongue.

'It's a, umm pen name, but it's comfortable than Dmitri Tippens Krushnic.'

'Russian?'

Misha just smiles and ducks his head. Jensen orders two shots of tequila as both men dip into a comfortable conversation of life, drama, art and politics. Jensen's entrapped into the deep philosophical yet eccentric life Misha lives and wonders what it's like to be so vividly alive and unapologetically himself.

  
When they both stumbles out of the pub into the street, the street lights have thrown a yellow hue everywhere. Jensen takes a good look at the man next to him. Slightly shorter, wild hair-texture so deep it's almost black, blue eyes like sapphire and a really good body, athletic. Misha stares back with equal calculative look and smirks.

  
Jensen's heart plummets a few times as Misha grabs his hand and pulls him towards the back alleyway around the pub. Apart from the street dogs there's nothing in there, as Misha pushes him against the wall and pins him with his hands on both sides.

  
'Tell me if I am reading wrong.'

  
Long bony digits cradle his jaw as the pair of soft lips press against his own. Firm but with an option of Jensen backing away. He has no desire of doing that as he pulls Misha flush against his chest and bury his hand in those soft locks of hair. Misha's glasses get askew, so Jensen takes them off and pockets them. He opens his mouth to Misha's tongue who licks on his teeth before taking his lower lip in between his own and pulls. Jensen cups him through the jeans, and grins when he finds Misha already hard. He palms the erection before pressing the heel of his hand for that slight extra friction to elicit a tiny moan.

  
Misha's mouth is sinful, deliciously diabolical in the way that it snags Jensen away from all things he considers illicit and inappropriate, pulling him in with the warmth and strokes of tongue and skillful fingers caressing his scalp and jaw, as Jensen tries to find semblance of the situation. To hold on to _something_ , because he has had his fair share of one offs but this feels too much like falling and it scares the fuck out of him. Jensen's gone too far now to back out, to put space in between their mingled breaths so he simply undoes Misha's pant and a quick work of the zipper before pushing everything down the thighs. Slight breeze on Misha's sweaty thighs draws out a shiver as his hands works on Jensen's jeans. Jensen takes Misha and internally appreciate the girth and the general gravity of his cock as he fists his hand around to jerk. Misha's hips undulate in rhythmic arc as he briefly forgets about Jensen's straining bulge and simply rests his head on Jensen's shoulder, hands gripping too tight on his bicep.

Jensen buries his nose in Misha's hair breathing in the scent that grounds him and arouse him simultaneously as he rocks his still jeans clad erection on Misha's hip. Jensen's grinding brings Misha out of his lust induced haze and he mutters a brief apology as his hand plunge under Jensen's pants to grip his length. Jensen cries out at the touch to his over sensitive skin and just a brief graze of Misha's nails up his length sends him off to a much surprising orgasm that part embarrasses him and part knocks his breath out.

  
Misha lets go right behind with just a hitch in his breath and Jensen finds his hand clammy with come that he has no idea how to rid off while they both try to regain their composure.

  
'Now that's a mess I have no fucking idea what to do.'

  
Misha draws his hand out of Jensen's jeans that's equally come stained and they both laugh before Misha pulls out a handkerchief that he offers Jensen.

  
Jensen stares at Misha's eyes sans those glasses and leans in to kiss him softly. Misha smiles at the kiss before breaking away gently and steps back. They redo their pants, straighten their cloths and Misha runs his hands through his hair making it messier and for some reason it makes Jensen smile.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

  
They walk in silence for the rest of the way to Jensen's condo where they just stare at each other before whispering quiet good byes.

 

When Jensen looks up, the sun has kissed the sky morning and only then he remembers Misha's glasses are still in his pocket.


End file.
